


Play Date

by Aoidos



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:31:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoidos/pseuds/Aoidos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little drabble based on the following prompt: Eames and Arthur’s moms have set them up on a play date. Eames’ mother because she thinks Arthur will be a good influence, and Arthur’s mother because she thinks Arthur needs to socialize more.</p><p>For the sake of an interesting plot, I made them a bit older than usual for a play date. Arthur is seven and Eames is eight.</p><p>Thanks to forgerfondofpaisley for the great prompt :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play Date

"Honey, it’ll be fun," his mom insists as he slumps miserably against the passenger side window of the car. Arthur scowls at the passing yards, thinking it definitely won’t be fun. If anything, a play date with some random kid he barely knows is going to be  _weird_.

Mrs. Eames lives far away on the other side of town where the houses are smaller and rundown. His mom reminds him not to mention that fact, and to say  _you have a lovely home, Mrs. Eames_ when he gets inside.

"Eames has had some…trouble adjusting since they moved from England," his mom says as she glances in the rearview mirror.

This is unsurprising news to Arthur. He and Eames are in the same grade because Arthur skipped ahead a year, and being the hall monitor for the entire grade, he oftentimes sees Eames escorted by teachers to the principal’s office.

One time, Eames overturned the class hamster’s cage, which Arthur didn’t even get. What had Mr. Bojangles ever done to anyone?

When his mom pulls into the Eames’ driveway, Arthur sighs extra loudly so his mom understands just how awful this is for him.

"He’s  _weird_ ,” Arthur gripes, scowling.

"He’s not weird," his mom tisks. "He’s just…British." Then she unlocks the car and climbs out. Grumbling, Arthur follows. 

His mom and Mrs. Eames know each other from PTA, and Arthur has been told by the both of them that he’ll be a good influence on the troubled new student, but he just sees himself ending up in a headlock as the weirdo British kid wails on him.

His mom rings the doorbell and he hears Mrs. Eames yell, “Coming!” from inside, and then the door flies open and it’s a whirlwind of perfume and cries of greeting, and Arthur cowers to the side in the hallway as the two women catch up on gossip and things he doesn’t care about.

"I appreciate this so much, Heather," Mrs. Eames says to his mom in her English accent. "Eamsie is having such a hard time, poor lad." 

Arthur reflexively mouths the word  _Eamsie_ before he scowls in response to his mother’s proud smile. “Arthur insisted on coming,” she lies. “He says he already knows Eames.”

"Really?" Mrs. Eames asks and looks at him.

Arthur wants to say he only knows her son because he’s in trouble all the time, but he doesn’t because his mom taught him not to talk back to adults. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles quietly.

"So polite!" Mrs. Eames crows, delighted as she takes their coats from them. "Arthur, darling, go upstairs, and the first door on your right is Eames’ room."

Arthur trudges up the stairs heavily as the excited voices of the women recede into the kitchen. He sort of expects Eames’ room to be covered in skulls and dead animals, so it’s surprising to peek inside and see nothing out of the ordinary: just a couple band posters, a desk, a bed, and a small TV propped up by the window.

Eames is sitting on his bed and looks up when Arthur appears in the doorway.

"Hey," he mutters, looking about as dejected as Arthur about the whole play date thing.

"Hey," Arthur says, standing awkwardly at the cusp of the room.

"Well, come in," Eames says, resigned to their fate. Arthur closes the door behind him and looks around a bit at the posters, then the books stacked on the desk. He’s sort of impressed Eames reads in his leisure time. He has  _Lord of the Rings_ , which is Arthur’s favorite novel, and it’s supposed to be pretty advanced for their age group.

"You like Tolkien?" he asks.

Eames looks at him skeptically. “I like the fights,” he clarifies and Arthur nods a little.  _Oh. Figures._

When the silence becomes unbearable, Eames sighs. “Sorry my mum made you come over. She thinks I’m spastic or something.”

Arthur shrugs. “It’s okay. I was bored anyway.”

If he was honest with himself, Arthur wasn’t doing any better on the social food ladder than Eames. He was the youngest kid in his class, and from the look of his report cards, he’d probably skip another grade soon. Arthur had perfect attendance, never talked back to teachers, and so he was an ideal target for bullies.

Eames shifts a little on the bed, and Arthur realizes he’s nervous. The thought surprises him because he’s always regarded Eames as scary and dangerous, but never insecure. “So..what do you want do?” Eames asks.

"Um…" Arthur says as he looks around the room. "Do you have video games?"

"No," Eames says, frowning, and Arthur feels stupid for asking the question. His mom had drilled the idea that the Eames are not well off into his head.

"Well, what do you usually do?" he asks.

Eames shrugs. “Play sports,” he says as he glances to the side of the bed where there’s a soccer ball resting on the floor. “Want to go kick the ball around?”

Arthur had always had a severe aversion toward sports, mostly because he’s the smallest male in his class, and tends to get thrown around. However, his mom had given him strict instructions to be nice and polite. “Sure,” he says, warily.

***

Arthur is  _terrible_ at soccer, and Eames laughs at him because the ball doesn’t even go in the direction he wants to kick it in, and he’s just about ready to storm back into the house when the other boy runs over and grabs him by the arm.

"Wait, Arthur.  _Wait_. I’m sorry, mate. It’s just…bloody hell,” he says, laughing. 

Arthur glares at him. “We can’t all be star athletes.”

Eames props his foot up on the ball and grins. “Star athlete? You seen me play?”

Arthur shrugs. He’s seen Eames play once or twice during gym. He’s the fastest kid by far, and he always makes the most goals. “You’re good. I’ve seen you play.”

After that, Eames is much nicer to him. He teaches Arthur the proper way to kick and dribble, and how to aim the ball for the goal. Arthur has just figured out how to pass the soccer when his mom appears on the back porch and calls his name, saying it’s time to go.

Eames picks up the ball, and they walk toward the house. “You learn fast,” he says, his hair wet from sweat and sticking up in all directions.

"Thanks," Arthur replies sheepishly.

Before they reach the back steps, Eames looks at him. “Hey, so you’re good at math, right?”

Arthur glances at him. “Um..yeah.” He’s very good. In fact, he always gets straight-As in math, as he does in his other subjects.

"Think you can help me sometime? My grades…aren’t great lately, and my mum can’t afford a tutor," Eames says, his cheeks flushing a bit when he says the last part.

"Uh…sure," he says, unable to think of a reason why he shouldn’t do that. Hanging out with Eames hadn’t been bad. In fact, it had been fun, and certainly better than Arthur’s usual after school activities: reading, homework, bathing, and then bed.

"Great," Eames grins, emphasizing the word with a slap to the soccer ball, and Arthur smiles in return. 

"Did you boys have fun?" his mom asks when they walk into the kitchen.

"Yes," the boys mutter in unison.

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Eames chirps. "We’ll have to do this again sometime then. Thank you for coming, Arthur."

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Eames. You have a lovely home," he parrots, as instructed by his mom.

"Such a polite young man!" Mrs. Eames declares again and squeezes his cheeks.

"Bye, Eames," he mumbles, smiling a little at the boy.

Eames grins and waves a little before Arthur’s mom presses a hand to his back and steers him from the house.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr: http://theaoidos.tumblr.com/


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